Under the Bleachers
by ImpossibleThings
Summary: Santana is completely innocent here. It's not her fault Brittany was wearing that purple lacy bra...


Inspired by this lovely drawing: .com/post/3824821372/i-can-imagine-sue-finding-them-and-not-being

Enjoy.

p.s Still writing chapter three of The Aches of Quinn!

* * *

><p>The situation all started 10 minutes before the football game.<p>

It wasn't her fault, honestly, because Brittany was teasing her and it was so God damn _difficult_.

It was football season, and miraculously, the team hadn't yet been kicked out of the league (or whatever actually happened at those things). Since all the football games started straight after school, often the Cheerios went straight to the locker rooms to get ready to cheer on the team; and on this particularly fateful day that is _exactly_ when it started.

Picture the scene.

Santana is innocently pulling her kit out of her locker when she is all of a sudden _very _aware that Brittany is standing beside her, all too close and grinning slyly. Santana is merely grasping around the bottom of the locker for her spare pair of socks when she feels a small hand swiftly trace its way up her thigh, pinch her ass and disappear again. She yelps, a noise which (thank God) is drowned out in the babble, but just as the hand had disappeared there too was suddenly no Brittany beside her, only now she can see Brittany smirking at her from the other side of the locker room bench .

Santana stands frozen with her mouth open as Brittany winks, licks her lips, and slowly undresses out of her spare cheer uniform. Dirty thoughts flood Santana's mind (and she wants you to remember that she had been _completely_ innocent before and during this highly inappropriate intrusion) and before she knows it, Brittany is once again clothed and Coach Sylvester is screaming at Santana's lack of readiness.

It wasn't _her_ fault. Damn Brittany and her sexiness.

"SANDBAGS! OUT ON THE FIELD RIGHT NOW! I don't care if you're naked, NOW!"

So Santana shuts her mouth, wipes her drool, and obediently follows the Coach outside, trying not to look too dishevelled. Damn Brittany and that purple lacy bra.

It was customary for the Cheerios to warm up the waiting crowd before the boredom– sorry, football – started, so after a quick pep talk from Coach Sylvester, the Cheerios gather in a circle, ready to start their routine. As Santana steps into place, she finds herself facing Brittany. Brittany looks utterly wicked and mischievous and Santana gulps, knowing that Brittany is up to something and it would not go down well at all. Well, actually, it would probably go extremely well, Santana isn't going to lie, because she knows that look on Britt's face. She's wearing her bedroom eyes. But the consequences would range anywhere from dire to expulsion, knowing Brittany, and Santana knew Brittany. Santana knew the cunning mind Brittany hid behind innocent blue eyes, fluttering her eyelashes and swishing her golden hair to enchant her prey.

Before she has time to contemplate and/or fear what is coming to her, the music starts, so determinedly the show goes on.

At least, the show went on until the tossing began.

You see, the Cheerios were rigorously trained. They were taught such single minded focus to the point many of them could no longer feel pain – a feat discovered by Coach Sylvester that one practice she snuck up on Quinn Fabray and held a lighter to her cheer captain's upper arm. If you looked closely you could still see a faint white patch of skin on Quinn's arm where the lighter had been held for a grand total of two minutes and fifty six seconds before she had worked up the courage to turn around and ask the Coach if there was anything wrong.

And that focus was not missing from the routine that day – apart from, well, Santana had left her focus somewhere between Brittany's thighs and what Santana was going to do as soon as she and Brittany got back home that evening. You see, it was not Santana's fault, she was sure of it; it was the way Britt's top had unzipped and glided slowly down her pale, toned arms in the changing rooms, falling over her hips until Brittany slowly bent forward and shuffled it down her long, long legs.

And that's exactly the moment in the routine that Santana's focus catches up with her, only to leave her again to travel its way up Brittany's skirt.

This time, Santana's jaw drops and she is gone, just _gone_, because Brittany had forgotten to put on underwear.

Well, forgotten; more like hadn't put on any, because Brittany knew that when she was thrown in the air, the one who would be watching was Santana, and the one who would notice would be Santana. Although after the game was over there would be some confusion in the mind of some girls, a _wait a second _moment that they didn't quite know if maybe it was a trick of the mind, that moment was only Santana's. And like she said: she was _gone_.

Needless to say, the minute the music ends, Santana is out of there.

And taking Brittany with her.

They are supposed to stay on the sidelines, but when Coach's back is turned to yell at some poor, unsuspecting little girl, Santana grabs a smug Brittany by the hand and pulls her away from the crowd, shoving her underneath the bleachers.

"Santana, what are you doing?" asks Brittany, only she has a complete shit eating grin on her face because she knows _exactly_ what Santana is doing, and is proved right when Santana throws her against the column and fiercely kisses her.

"You...bitch. You tease, Brittany, _dios mio_, you are trying to kill me," Santana groans as she rakes her nails up and down Brittany's back, before moving her fingers to smooth, rock hard abs and she works on stroking her way up to Brittany's chest, finding a chance to bite her neck and viciously pinch her nipples over that fucking purple lacy bra. Brittany moans but Santana is covering her mouth with her left hand and moves her other to Britt's thigh, grasping it at the knee and hiking it up to rest against her hip. She trails her fingertips down her inner thigh and thinks, _payback_, and begins lightly stroking Brittany right where she wants it and Britt is gasping, begging against Santana's fingers, but this time Santana is in control. She stares into Brittany's eyes with a hunger and only then begins to fuck her, slowly torturing her. When Brittany lets out a half scream of frustration, tears in her eyes, Santana drops to her knees and lets Brittany's legs slide over her shoulders so it's the only thing supporting her, her shoulders and the column, and she licks Brittany with a flat tongue before she focuses, fucking her harder and sucking and licking her clit until she feels Brittany shudder. She comes with her fist in her mouth muffling her screams.

Santana slowly lets her down, sliding down the column to rest on the floor, still entwined. They rest their foreheads together, basking in each other, until they realise that _oh shit_, it's half-time and they're supposed to be performing. In the distance, Coach Sylvester is roaring through her megaphone. She's evidently been looking for a while because she's shouting something about dead or alive, huge cash reward, but Brittany only finds this hilarious. They slowly untangle and get to their feet, giggling, and Brittany catches Santana's eye and drags her forward by the fabric of her top and they kiss one last time against the column.

As Santana pulls back from the kiss, she sees a flash of red and blonde in the corner of her eye. Fear and adrenaline course through her veins when she turns her head, and there is nothing but _rage_ in Coach Sylvester's face.

So you see? It wasn't her fault. She was completely innocent.


End file.
